What drew me to Piazza Italiana wasn’t just the promise of good food, but the quiet confidence of a restaurant that knows exactly what it’s doing. Housed in a grand former British Linen Bank, it’s a place that whispers elegance rather than shouting about it. The kind of setting where chandeliers glint overhead and the air hums softly with the clink of wine glasses and jazz piano. In other words: a perfect date night spot.
I took my husband – someone who treats pasta with the reverence most people reserve for religion. His holy grail? Carbonara. I’ve watched him judge entire restaurants on the strength of a single bowl, and he’s been known to quietly mourn mediocre versions for days. So, expectations were high.
Anticipation and Aperitifs
We started with cocktails upstairs at the bar, overlooking the dining room like slightly underdressed aristocrats. I went for the aged Negroni, dark and complex with just enough bite to keep it interesting. He chose a Black Manhattan – bourbon-heavy with a bitter Sicilian twist – and declared it “dangerously good” before we even made it to the table.
Downstairs, seated beneath gilded columns and towering windows, the theatre continued with the menu. It reads like a love letter to Italy, full of regional classics and just enough flair to keep it exciting.
Enter the Tagliolini
I began with the Tartare di Tonno – yellowfin tuna, avocado mousse, and a slow-cooked yolk that pooled like gold on the plate. He opted for the Insalata di Pomodori e Burrata, mostly because he spotted the word ‘burrata’ and tuned out the rest.
But we both knew the main event had yet to arrive. The Tagliolini al Tartufo – creamy truffle sauce, hand-spun in a pecorino wheel at the table – had been circled mentally since we first glanced at the menu. And when it arrived, glistening and fragrant, he looked at it with the same quiet awe he once reserved for our wedding cake.
I can confidently say I lost most of my portion to “just one more bite” diplomacy. He practically beamed through it, declaring it a rival to his beloved carbonara – high praise from a man who has lovingly debated the merits of guanciale versus pancetta.
For variety (and a moment of restraint), I tried the Spaghetti al Pesto di Pistacchi e Gamberi Rossi, a gloriously silky pistachio sauce topped with red prawns and creamy stracciatella. It was fresh, indulgent and completely worth ordering again. But I would recommend eating it quickly, before a pasta thief strikes.
Jazz, Citrus, and Subtle Bragging Rights
Jazz Thursdays gave the evening a smooth, toe-tapping soundtrack – never intrusive, just quietly elevating everything. We lingered over wine, enjoying the gentle rhythm of a restaurant that doesn’t rush you. It’s rare in the City, and refreshing.
We shared the Amalfi Lemon for dessert – though “shared” may be generous. He claimed the first and final spoonful, leaving me with the citrusy heart (and very few regrets). Tart, creamy, and sculpted to look like a real lemon, it was one of those playful dishes that manages to be both theatrical and genuinely delicious.
Final Thoughts: For the Love of Pasta (and a Good Setting)
We’ve already made a pact to return, probably for the Saturday Feast, which promises porchetta, parmesan Yorkshire puddings, and vinyl-spun disco – three of his favourite things after pasta and me. And 50% off drinks on Mondays might just become a very appealing excuse for a spontaneous night out.
Would we go back? Without question. It’s rare to find a restaurant that feels genuinely special without tipping into formality, but Piazza Italiana walks that line beautifully. And if it can make my husband momentarily forget about carbonara? Well, that’s saying something.
38 Threadneedle St, London EC2R 8AY
